Walking Along the West Rim Trail

 08/21/26

Slightly overcast. Peculiar lighting. Yup. Time for a long walk in the sticks. So I hopped on a company shuttle, its destination the northern terminus of the West Rim Trail. Up and up the Kolob Terrace Road, talking, talking, talking. We arrived at the trailhead. The clients left. I lingered behind, tipping the driver in beans. Cannellini beans. And then we chatted for a bit and enjoyed this slightly overcast morning with peculiar lighting, the temps hovering in the upper 80's, the day shapin' to be a hot one. 

And then I donned my cap and waved goodbye to the driver and took a bow or something like that and then began my long walk along the West Rim Trail. Ain't ever been on that trail before. I'd heard many good things about it. Time to see if those things were actually true.

Along the West Rim Trail

And I eventually caught up to the clients and they were walking two abreast, just a couple of old friends that still possessed the conversational prowess of the typical middle schooler. And I heard them talking and laughing and then I passed them by and their voices faded away and it was back to nothing but warm air and overcast skies and tall pines. Quiet pines. Pines that had seen many things, awesome things, terrible things. So many things, and no way to tell anyone about it. Not a soul. Except maybe another tree. I swear them's communicate with one another. Trust me. They have their ways...

And so I walked beneath the pines and tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, the overcast skies slowly dissipating, the the sun growing more intense. Down the trail, walking, walking walking. The concentration of pines began to dissipate, scrub oak and manzanita now taking up all the available real estate. Views started comin' in now. Distant peaks. Rugged peaks. Inaccessible peaks. Variegated terrain, multicolored bumps and humps and precipices and cracks and divots and canyons galore. I stopped often, gazing upon this absurd scene, the image always impressive, the topography infinitely captivating. 

Caught me a horny toad. Put it in the shade. Wandered through a meadow. Never looked back. Sun up above, its rays quickly disintegrating the feeble clouds still lingering in the sky. Started heading uphill. Met a backpacker heavily perfumed with the pungent aroma of a tetrahydrocannabinol product. The scent lingered in the woods long after he was gone, it was so strong. And he was all smiles and sunshine and he said "Heyyyyy!" and I was like "sup" and that was the end of that conversation.

And then the grade began to grow more agreeable. More mellow. Easy on the heart, easy on the legs. But I was warmed up now and was lookin' for more uphill. Why not check out an obscure peak? I'd heard of "Never Done Mountain" and knew it was somewhere along the upper portion of the West Rim Trail. Just didn't know exactly where, you know? But I put on my thinkin' cap and I saw a rise and I was like, "Well, I reckon that's it right there, I reckon" and so I ditched the trail and began zig-zagging through prickly bushes and knee-high manzanita.

"Never Done Mountain" summit

Northwest

Southwest

By jove, my thinkin' cap had paid off. Before I knew it I was standing on the sandy summit, the views pretty dang good all things considered. Off to the northwest rose some familiar sights: Pine Valley Peak, North Guardian, the Northgate Peaks, and off in the distance the long, high, brown line of the Pine Valley Range, crystal-clear through the tepid air. Off to the southwest rose less familiar terrain. In fact, I hadn't a clue as to what I was lookin' at. Phantom Valley was somewhere down there. Ivin's Mountain. Inclined Temple. Emerald Peak. The fabled "Bishoprics." I tried putting names to the features, all for naught. Oh well. Made the views all the more mysterious. 

Once I'd had my fill of mystery, I suited up and made my way back to the trail, taking a diagonal line through the brush as a shortcut. Pro tip: don't do that. Ripped me a brand new hole in my shirt doin' that. Ahh well. That's what I get for cuttin' corners. 

Back on the trail, I walked probably eight more steps until I found myself standing face to face with the biggest bighorn sheep I've ever seen in my entire life. Stocky fellow, thick ol' neck, big ol' horns. Each one was close to the size of a french horn. And I stopped in my tracks and stared it down and it looked at me and was slightly puzzled. And then I saw something click in his eyes and he spun around in half a second and sprinted off into the bushes in the blink of an eye. I never saw him again. 

Staring contest

"Never Done Mtn" top right

And then it was back to up, back to an elevated heart rate, up and up to the top of Horse Pasture Plateau, the highpoint of the trail. Good views from up there. Just make sure to make a right instead of a left when you reach a junction. Don't go down Telephone Canyon. I can imagine there ain't no views down there, but hey, you never know...

Continuing along, I left the trail every now and then and walked to the rim and sat and stared at the impressive views to the west. The day, though hot, was particularly clear; no haze, no nothin'. Unimpeded, clear, crisp views off and away into the distant west. Could see the urban sprawl of St. George. Could see West Mountain Peak and Zion View Peak wayy out there. Could even make out the tiny little silhouette of Mt. Bangs in the distance, something I wasn't expecting to see at all that day. Not wanting to rush through this scenery, I sat down at a particularly scenic spot, wolfed down some nuts and took a lil' break. And then, about 15 minute later, it was back to walkin', back to sweatin', they day only gettin' hotter with each passin' second. 

Phantom Valley

Gunsight Point center

And the trail started headin' down and it would remain that way for a good long while. And I saw Gunsight Point off in the distance, an interestin' lookin' spot with an even more interestin' lookin' approach. Didn't have no beta on it, but it didn't look that hard to get to. Just a long walk on a skinny peninsula in the sky. Looked mighty might cool. 

So I shrugged my shoulders and darted off the trail, scampering down a class 2 cliff band to access the peninsula. A wee brush buffet of manzanita later and I was walkin' along soft sand and jagged rocks, the deep chasm of Behunin Canyon to my left, the seldom visited Gunsight Canyon to my right. 

Zion Canyon in miniature

Behunin Canyon to my left...

...Gunsight Canyon to my right

The crazy ramp up to Mt. Majestic, no thanks!

I followed ram tracks most of the way to the base of Gunsight, the route nice and open and sandy. I moseyed on over to the west side once I got to the base, mostly 'cause it seemed like the most agreeable way to go.. I walked along the side for a brief moment until finding a loose and sandy route to the base of some easy class 3. There looked to be many possible routes to the top; being the lazy fool that I am, I decided choose the easiest lookin' one. Once past that and I was nearly at the top, the views down into Behunin Canyon absolutely mind-numbing. 

Where I began the ascent

I went up the brushy crack in the center

Behunin Canyon...wow!

I busted through some minor brush to the unremarkable summit; the thing didn't have a single view, but that was okay. I continued off the highpoint to the south until the brush cleared, snapping a picture of Castle Dome and the East Temple in the distance. After that, I backtracked to the north and sat and looked at that crazy view into Behunin Canyon and beyond. Absolutely crazy. Could even make out the tippity-top of Angels Landing hiding amongst the remarkably precipitous, jaggy, irregular terrain. 

South

The Peaks of Phantom Valley, northwest

And then I checked my water supply and I went "yep" and I knew I'd run out at some point on the way back; it was just a matter of when. And so I got myself into ration mode and I said goodbye to Gunsight Point and retraced my steps and slid down the class 3 stuff, waltzed across the peninsula, busted' through the manzanita, and scampered back up the class 2 cliff band to the trail. 

Headin' back...

Class 2 cliff band; I went left

Back on the trail, I put my mind in cruise control and busted out the downhill, stopping in the shade only once for a brief snack of mixed nuts and a sip of warm water. Down, down, down, the trail blasted in the side of the cliff, huge switchbacks snaking their way off the rim through white sandstone and scraggily bushes. 

Back on trail, Gunsight Point center

A warm day, a cozy day, the air wrapped around my body like a snug, weighted blanket. Saw some more folks once I'd descended off the rim, sweaty folks, their skin glistening with moisture, their clothing damp and salty. And I caught up to the two clients I'd seen that morning; they'd passed me on while I was out messin' around on Gunsight Point. "Ahh, hullo again!" they said. "Yup, hello again. Long time, no see." I nodded and passed them by and as soon as I did, they immediately resumed their middle school-esque conversations, their minds and spirits seemingly unaffected by the broiling temps. 

Started headin' up again, saw Majestic Spur and Little Majestic off to my right. Met my roommate on the way down to Scout's Lookout; didn't recognize me at first. "Yo, same hoody!" he said. "Whaddya mean same hoody? What you talkin' about?" "Oh wow, I didn't know it was you."

And we stopped and chatted a bit and I met his friend who had flown in from DC just last night and they were going up to Refrigerator Peak and I wished 'em luck and told 'em to stay hydrated and all that stuff and then blasted off to Scouts Lookout, heading towards the final side-trip for the day. 

Oh yeah. We all know what that is...

Met up with the ranger. Showed him my permit. "Oh, you're from Tennessee yeah?" "Yup" "Whereabouts?" "Johnson City" "No way, I'm from Erwin." "No kiddin'." And then we proceeded to talk for a good five minutes about good ol' eastern Tennessee and the fall colors and the mountains and the green trees and the summer thunderstorms and all that good stuff and then the Ranger wished me well and I was on my way, sweat spilling over my brow, down my nose and instantly evaporating once it hit the hot, hot sandstone. 

I started off quick, and then my slightly dehydrated state said "nope" and I regressed to a snail's pace, a simple, unhurried, casual jaunt to the top of the 2nd most popular landmark in all of Zion National Park. Met some folks comin' down, all of them in good spirits but absolutely drenched in sweat. "Careful, chain's hot" one of 'em said. And hot it was. Scalding hot. Didn't touch no chain again after that. No siree. 

And I eventually reached the top and there were only six other people there, all of 'em young guys no older than 20. And I sat down and stared at the views and absorbed the heat and felt the blood pumping through my neck and thought of nothing, not a darned thing. Some of the young dudes complained of the heat. Others began having a heat-induced philosophical conversation about God and geology. The last guy, who wasn't saying anything, just stood around takin' polaroids and shakin' his head every time he looked at the finished product. Ahh...the woes of perfectionism....

I probably stayed for seven minutes, just long enough to guzzle down the last few drops of my water supply. And then it was down the chains, back to the trail, zig-zaggin' through Walter's Wiggles, off and away into Refrigerator Canyon and beyond. Didn't see too many people makin' their way up the trail, probably because it was hot as balls outside but you never know. Maybe it was an off day or something. Who's to say?

Headin' back...

I reached the end of the trail. Hopped on the air-conditioned shuttle. Leaned back and enjoyed the ride. As soon as it stopped at the visitor center I went straight to the nearest fountain I could find, filled my bottle to the brim and drank the whole thing in one go. Yup. Two and a half liters was definitely not enough for the whole day but ehh, I made it work. 

Grandfather Mountain

08/08/26

Managed to get me some time off in early August, so I flew back to Tennessee for a few days of ramblin' and wanderin' and visiting with family and eating and such. Went on a couple of scenic drives through the country. Checked out a dilapidated lookout tower. Roller skated with my sister. And then, near the tail end of my Tennessee sojourn, my Mom and I decided that it would be neat to check out Grandfather Mountain State Park, a place that neither one of us had visited in the past. 

I'd seen the namesake Grandfather Mountain back in January of this year from the summit of Table Rock. Looked interesting. Tall. Somewhat precipitous. Saw some formations along a ridge, little knobs and bumps and such. Rocky, distant, cold. January was not the time to go. Too much ice, too much snow. But now, in the balmy, leafy-green season of late summer, there was no excuse. The weather, albeit a tad rainy, was beautiful. Had to check it out. And so we did.

Didn't know too much about the place. Certainly didn't know about the ridiculous entry fee. Oh brother. Don't think I'll ever go through the main gate ever again. Not only is it super expensive, but they also charge per person. Wow. Ain't never been to a state park that does that. Oh well. We'd driven all that way and we were gonna check it out, exorbitant entry fees be damned. 

And so we drove up the scenic road, casually coasting along the twists and turns, everything bright and green and fresh and clean. And then we found a parking spot, filled out a day-use permit, and then began the trek up the mountain, the signage warning us that we'd better be back by 6pm OR ELSE!

Started off real casual-like. Nothing too crazy. Just a few mellow switchbacks through gorgeous forest. Recent rains had coated everything in a fine layer of moisture, the ground somewhat muddy in places, the rocks slick, the leaves hanging heavy with drops of crystalline water. Coming from the high desert, this buffet of ferns and trees and grass and roots and mud and the ever-present wetness was a bit overwhelming for my senses; the forest bombarding my nose with an overpowering perfume of freshness, battering my eyes with every possible shade of green; the air sweet and clean on my tongue, the ground slippery and slick underfoot, the birds loud and numerous, peppering the late morning with thousands of songs. 

And then we made a right and started making our way up to the first little obstacle of the day: MacRae Peak. This was where things started gettin' fun, at least for me. Mom wasn't really having it. Didn't like the combination of steep terrain and slippery rocks. But we took our time and slowly moseyed on up to the peak, encountering cables and ladders that helped us through particularly challenging sections.

Up and up and out of the forest and into the land of air and cloud and wind and views. Lots of views. The higher we climbed, the better they became. I was lovin' it. The trail was definitely legit, offering decent exposure and sweeping views of the surrounding area. Certainley not for the faint of heart. One older guy who was in front of us kept saying "Seriously? Really? Man, I don't know about this! This is nuts!" And he was right. For the casual hiker, this trail will be a little challenging, especially for those that possess even the tiniest aversion to heights. It's kind of like Angels Landing, but just a tad less extreme. 

We eventually topped out after scrambling up a number of ladders, now walking along a cloudy, slippery ridge. MacRae Peak came into view, and I realized that this was one of the little bumps I'd seen from Table Rock all those months ago. A couple of older ladies ascended the ladder to the top of the peak. I followed suit, Mom deciding that it wasn't worth it. Once atop the ladder it was a quick little jaunt to the highpoint, sweeping views of the surrounding country stretching off in all directions. 

MacRae Peak

West

Southwest

Northeast; Attic Window Peak center

Once down the ladder, it was off to the next obstacle of the day: Attic Window Peak. We slowly descended away from MacRae to a saddle, carefully making our way down a particularly slick section with an even slicker cable. Mom didn't like that at all; not one bit. Once we made it to the saddle she mentioned that she probably wouldn't go much farther, especially if there were more slippery sections like the one that we'd just passed. 

Back in the forest, we were greeted with the songs of the birds yet again, stopping often to snap a photo of a mushroom or something like that. And then it was back to up, back to steepness, back to boulders and rocks and wetness as we made our way up to Attic Window Peak.

Attic Window Peak. The trail goes up the left chute

The slippery cable

More ladders, more slipperiness. Went through a teeny-tiny talus cave. Started heading up a prominent chute. Mom called it there; told me she'd wait for me at the saddle. I continued along, picking up the pace, scampering up the chute to the top of Attic Window Peak. Not as airy as MacRae, in my opinion, but it had good views nonetheless. Grandfather Mountain rose in the northeast, still a good clip away. I didn't linger long. With one last look I said goodbye to Attic Window and then trotted off down the trail, the clouds spilling over the ridge, the ground muddy and loose, everything wet, wet, wet. 

The teeny-tiny talus cave

Looking down the chute

Attic Window Summit, MacRae center left

Grandfather Mountain out there in the distance

Didn't stop to take a singe picture. Kinda just jogged the whole way, slippin' and slidin' in the mud every ten seconds. The trail mellowed out significantly after descending the opposite side of Attic Window; just a peaceful, rolling, muddy jaunt through the dripping wet forest. 

Eventually, I hit the base of Grandfather Mountain and met a fairly steep grade. Up and up, the clouds rolling in, blanketing everything in a gray mist. Dang. Looked like I wasn't gonna get no views from the summit. Oh well. 

I eventually hit a fork and made a left, heading towards something called "Watauga View." Whelp, ain't no view there; the thing was completely socked in with clouds. So I backtracked to the fork and continued towards the summit of Grandfather Mountain, hitting the highpoint somewhere along the way. All that was left after that was to get to the east summit, which seemed to be the place where most people were going anyway. 

I got behind a conga line of folks making their way over,  passed 'em, scampered up a couple more ladders, and then topped out on the rocky summit, the most crowded summit of the day. For a brief moment the clouds cleared and I got one decent picture of the southwest, Attic Window Peak surrounded by a rings of clouds. And then everything became gray once again and it was time to leave, so I hopped off the summit and jogged the rest of the way back to the saddle between Attic Window and MacRae, my shoes and legs slathered in mud.

The one photo I got from Grandfather; Attic Window center

Met up with Mom at the saddle and the two of us decided to take the Underwood Trail for the way back. Not wanting to go up and over and down all those steep, slippery cables again, we figured this would be a good decision. The Underwood Trail bypasses MacRae Peak completely, offering a less exposed, but nonetheless steep, alternative. Consequently, we were both glad that we didn't take this trail on the way in; it would've absolutely sucked. As we were voicing this complaint some folks overheard us and said, "Oh yeah, we know. We took this trail this morning." Well, there you have it.

We continued down the hellish grade, not a single switchback in sight to relieve the tension in our knees and quads. And then we came upon a ladder, the last of the day. Down the ladder, down the trail, we eventually reached the Grandfather Trail yet again, the voices of people heading up the ladders and cables to MacRae Peak reaching our ears: "Are you serious?" "Wow." "This is insane!" "That's it, I'm going back." 

The only ladder on the Underwood Trail

And we followed the trail to the upper parking lot, stopping by the "Grandfather Mountain Top Shop" to look at all the overpriced merchandise housed within its crowded confines. After our brief bout of window shopping, there was only one more thing to do: check out the "mile high" swinging bridge. This seemed to be the most popular attraction of the park. Everyone was there. Full parking lot. A sea of people, the kind of concentration that you'd see at an amusement park or the Buc-ee's in Sevierville on the 4th of July. We walked up to the bridge, people everywhere takin' pictures and selfies and vloggin' and talkin' and jumpin' up and down and such. "Load Limit 40 Persons On Bridge At One Time" is what the sign said. There were probably 60 people on that bridge. Oh well. Time to test the limits of structural engineering. 

Mile High Swinging Bridge

And then, like magic, nearly everyone that was on the bridge got off and it was relatively clear and so Mom and I sauntered along, the thing swinging free and light over a deep chasm. Once across, we joined the horde and waltzed on over to the final peak of the day, Linville Peak, where a park employee was standing around answering all kinds of questions about the views and the landmarks and the history and a bunch of other kooky stuff like that. 

Linville Peak, view northwest

North

Southish, Table Rock wayyyy out there

Once we'd had enough of the views and the crowds on Linville Peak, all that was left was a brief walk down the Bridge Trail to the lower parking lot where we hopped in the car and drove on out of there, the clouds booming with thunder, threatening rain.

And we stopped at Wilson Center on the way back, 'cause, why not? Walked along the nature trail. It was kind of like a zoo. I suppose that's why they charge and arm and a leg to enter this park, but still, c'mon now! Saw us some bald eagles, some bears, some elk, some otters. Didn't see no mountain lions; they were out of sight, laying along the concrete directly beneath the viewing area gettin' their beauty sleep. 

And then we drove on down the road, stopping near the famed "Forest Gump Curve" for a quick picnic lunch before the rain hit. Watched the cars, watched the clouds. And that was about it. Drove on back to Johnson City, somehow managing to avoid the rain the whole time, the clouds unable to catch us. 

It was a good day in the mountains and an excellent way to end my little vacation to Tennessee. I'm sure to return to Grandfather Mountain in the future, only next time I'll approach it from the east. Ain't no way am I going through that west entrance again!